A/N: This whole thing was inspired by a picture in my room that I only just realized reads 'Caffe Venezia'. One morning I suddenly thought, hey, I bet the Italies work there. But I bet they're horrible business owners. Maybe Germany could help out. And Spain probably really likes their food. And other random people come to their restaurant but Germany probably won't come even after he saves it.
And so I wrote this. Originally I had wanted it to be a continuous story but as of now it will have chapters.
(Title translates to 'Silk Money', which comes from an Italian children's song)
Seta Moneta
-1-
"FELI," a loud voice called from the kitchens. "Bring the damn food out NOW."
Feliciano Vargas wafted into the dimly lit dining area, two heaping plates of pasta balanced in his arms. He placed one on a table as he passed it, smiling at the young woman when she thanked him, and continued on his way towards the table at the back.
A young man sat back there, in the spot he always took when he came to eat at the Caffe Veneziano. As Feliciano approached, he recognized the shocking green eyes and floppy brown hair, though of course he already knew who sat there.
"Hello Antonio," Feliciano smiled, placing the other plate of pasta down. "Romano told me to make sure to give this one especially to you! I'm sure he made it extra yummy just for you!"
The Spaniard's smile wavered as he envisioned all the possible things that went into the pasta, but he decided to trust Romano, who seemed too cute to do anything truly evil, and boldly took a bite.
"It's delicious, Feli," he told the younger twin. Feliciano smiled and grabbed a pitcher of water, refilling Antonio's glass while he was there. He was about to leave when the Spaniard called him back.
"Feliciano," he said, before hesitating. Feliciano stood there anxiously, anticipating what was about to come.
"I don't mean to be rude… I'm just curious. You know I care very much about this place, and you and your brother as well. Still I can't help but wonder… is… something wrong?"
Feliciano giggled nervously. "No, of course not! Why would you say something like that?"
"Romano hasn't come out of the kitchen the past few times I've been here, and I know it can't be that he's angry with me. I couldn't help but notice you're down a few staff members…"
"Antonio!" Feliciano said quickly. "You're a customer; you don't need to worry about things like this! Just enjoy our food, per favore," the Italian said, before spinning around to head back to the kitchen.
Antonio reached a hand out to stop him, but thought better of it when he heard a sniffle come from the young twin. He watched Feliciano hurry back to the kitchen, ignoring two people who were simply asking for refills, and finished his dinner in silence.
Maybe he could talk to Romano next time…
If there is a next time, he thought bitterly.
"Lovi!" Feliciano cried once he was in the kitchen. He flung himself at his brother, ignoring the way Romano dropped the heavy wooden spoon into the saucepan, splattering them with bits of tomato sauce. When Feliciano looked up at his brother with tearful eyes, Romano gave him a quick squeeze before pushing him away.
"What happened, Veneziano?" He asked, reverting back to a nickname they had grown up using for the younger twin when people got them confused. It was for that same reason people called him Romano more often than they used his real name. "Was it Antonio?" he added hurriedly, already suspicious.
"No, no," Feliciano assured him. "Well, in a way…"
"What?"
"I-I think he knows. You know, about us and… about the… the restaurant."
"Oh Feli," Romano scrubbed a floury hand over his face, leaving tracks of white. "I told you, I'm taking care of it. I'll take care of you."
"But maybe he can help—"
"No!" Romano said quickly, too quickly, and the other cook looked sharply at the two brothers. Romano reddened (to his dismay, he was always teased about being as red as a tomato when he was embarrassed or angry). "I mean, what can he do?"
"I'll ask him," Feliciano said excitedly, the tears instantaneously gone from his eyes. Romano frowned.
"Okay but… wait a bit. I'll talk to him. Tomorrow."
Or the day after that… or the day after that.
Feliciano smiled up at him, thanked him, and promised him buckets of pasta and tomatoes. Romano could only smile back and worry about meeting up with that damn Spaniard.
That night had been a Tuesday, and it was not until Friday that Romano actually swallowed his pride and made his way over to the back table where Antonio always sat. He had hated the Spaniard the moment he first met him, when the jerk tried to trade Romano for his "cuter" brother as the waiter. Antonio had apologized profusely, swearing that it had been a joke, but Romano had simply countered with a bowl of pasta over the head.
That had been months ago, when they could still afford to lose customers by being rude (in Romano's case) or lazy (in Feliciano's case). Feliciano had yelled at him still, though.
They were both surprised when Antonio showed up two days later and ordered the same thing.
Since then, Antonio had been a regular customer. Really, Romano shouldn't have been surprised that he would notice the restaurant becoming more run-down of late.
They were going to have to tell him the restaurant was going out of business sooner or later.
Romano really had hoped it might be later.
"Ah, Romano!" Antonio's whole demeanor brightened when he saw the Italian pushing past noisy tourists, making his way to the back table. "Does this mean you're not going to make my pasta tonight? It always tastes better when you do…"
The Spaniard's mouth twisted into a straight line when he realized Romano was not looking like his normal grumpy self, but much gloomier. He patted the chair beside him and smiled lightly when Romano took the offer without arguing.
"Idiot, that's because I pour extra hate in when making yours. And spit, lots of spit too."
Antonio just laughed, much to Romano's dismay. He sobered up quickly, though. Romano would never sit with him unless something was wrong.
"What is the matter?" The Spaniard asked, legitimately curious. He had been worried about the restaurant—and about the twins—ever since he had noticed a significant decrease in the number of workers and the deep, darkening bags under both Romano and Feliciano's eyes.
"Let's get one thing straight," Romano said quickly. "I'm not coming to you for help. We were going to tell you eventually and this is just… a warning."
"What sort of warning?"
"You should…" Romano looked down and started to fiddle with the tablecloth. It was fine, as many things in the restaurant were; the twins were nothing without fine taste in both food and atmosphere.
Romano took a deep breath and started again. "You should probably find somewhere else to eat."
"Are… are you kicking me out?"
"N-No, but if it needs to come to that, it will." Romano threatened in a small voice. Antonio looked at him.
"I can help you, Romano. I know someone whose brother is some kind of magic man with money… like, he's roommates with some Austrian guy who used to know some Swiss guy, who apparently taught him a lot about banking and stuff…"
"And?" Romano asked impatiently. Antonio laughed again.
"And I can maybe ask him to come down here, help you get your finances in order…"
He had expected Romano to disagree outright. Instead, the Italian sat there for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you really think that would help us?"
"Yeah, Romano," Antonio said, smiling. "I think it could save you."
They were closing up for the day when Romano told Feliciano about Antonio's idea. Feliciano didn't say anything for a while, which made Romano slightly worried. Despite his brainless appearance (though there were times when his brother truly did do stupid things), Feliciano cared very much for the restaurant and would take big decisions that concerned it very carefully.
"I think we should try it," he said finally. Romano shrugged.
"I wasn't asking for your permission, stupido fratello," he said. "I just… wanted to let you know."
Feliciano smiled at him, completely oblivious of Romano's I-am-seriously-serious tone. "Okay then, grazie."
He picked up the box of leftover fish they always left out for stray cats and dogs and began to head in the direction of the alley next to the restaurant. Romano locked the door and tucked the keys safely into his pants pocket, watching Feliciano go.
Faintly, he heard his brother singing softly, an old folk song their grandfather used to sing to them.
Seta Moneta
le donne di Gaeta
che filano la seta
la seta e la bambagia
bambini chi vi piace…
